


Think of England

by Annehiggins



Category: The Avengers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-01
Updated: 2010-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU of The Avengers movie in which Sir August de Wynter favors Steed and comes up with a new plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think of England

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old-fashioned bodice ripper, so technically it begins as a non-con tale, but I think the style of it is light enough (goofy enough?) that it removes the darkness I associate with the warning of rape/non-con. However, if that sort of thing bothers you on _any_ level, please read no further.
> 
> I wrote this after seeing _The Avengers_ movie which I think was a far better film and a far better tribute to the old series (which could be _quite_ bizarre enough that even killers in teddy bear costumes would not have been out of the question) than others have. The fic has a disjointed-vibe to it, but I think it somehow works at the intended level.

Life was getting quite surreal. One moment he was moving through a 17th Century love maze while flirting with the most formidable woman he'd ever met, then the next a crashing sound made him quicken his pace. A silver staff swooped down to bar his path.

"Sir August de Wynter," the holder of the weapon announced.

"John Steed," he introduced himself, then countered a blow of the staff with his umbrella.

His foe looked pleased. "An old trick I learned from a dervish in Istanbul," he said twirling the weapon.

"Hmm, Turkish rules."

"If you insist."

"Then try this," he lunged, was blocked, then blocked in turn. The handle of his umbrella caught on the staff, and Sir August shoved both weapons down, pinning the lethal ends to the ground.

Only inches separating them, and he was told, "A man with an umbrella is a man praying for rain."

"And a man without one is a fool. Never trust the weather, Sir August."

"Rain or shine, all is mine," he announced. A twist of his wrist sent the umbrella flying. Steed spun but the other end of the staff hurtled toward his temple. A fatal blow, he thought, then knew nothing but the pain carrying him swiftly into darkness.

*

To his surprise, Steed came to. But no longer on the estate grounds. He was strapped to a table, a display of swirling lights above him.

"How do you feel?" A deep voice asked him.

"As if the royal symphony were using my head as a bass drum," he answered.

A chuckle. "Perhaps you would have preferred a fractured skull?"

"No, thank you anyway, but I am curious. Why pull the blow?"

"You would be of little use to me dead." Sir August moved into his line of vision.

Steed didn't like the sound of that at all. "'Use?'"

Dark eyes glimmered with amusement and something that made his stomach twist. "Oh, yes. I want you to join me, John. Together we would be unbeatable."

He considered lying, but the lights above him were too similar to a lie detection device the Ministry was working on. "I doubt that. In my experience, those words usually signal the beginning of the end. Perhaps you should save us both some time and simply surrender."

A wolfish smile. "I thought you might say something like that." His hand came down, Steed caught the flash of a needle, then a sharp pain in his arm made him shudder. Within moments his head began to spin.

The straps holding him released, but his muscles refused to obey and take advantage of the situation. Sir August pulled him up, then held him close. Very close.

"I say ... isn't this ... a trifle familiar?"

"Yes, isn't it."

He could manage the trick of standing up straight, but his 'host' seemed more than willing to keep him upright, even if his path were erratic. His ears ringing, it took him a moment to notice the music. Ah, then all this dipping and swaying must be dancing. How charming.

Steed wanted to say something witty, yet scathing, but his voice would no longer work. Pity. A man liked to have some sort of defense.

The music stopped, and Sir August tipped him backwards. A different room. Ah, a bedroom and an elegant one, at that. Must be a mattress beneath him. He felt a tugging, then the coolness of silk sheets against bare skin. Naked on a bed covered with silk, while a man with a hungry look in his eyes leaned over him. Not good, not good at all.

Lips pressed to his accompanied by the unfamiliar sensation of a mustache brushing against his skin. Not a tickle, or an irritation, more a feathery caress that went straight to his cock. A soft cry of astonishment died in the silence of his drugged state. Drugged. Of course. Some thing to enhance the mood as well as make him compliant. Not at all sporting. Nor was the tongue taking advantage of his parted lips.

The intensity of the tongue's exploration made him feel like a meal set before a starving man. No one had ever wanted him with such passion. No, nonsense, it was only the drug making his head spin.

Hands began to caress him, while hungry lips shifted from his mouth to first his right nipple, then the left. Steed groaned loudly, arching up to press more firmly into the devouring mouth.

De Wynter chuckled, then drew back. "Ah, Steed, I do wish I had the time to give you all the attention you deserve," he said, reaching for something on the bedside table.

The notion the man might intend to leave him in this state alarmed Steed enough relief surged through him when his addled brain processed de Wynter had drawn back to coat his cock with gel. Reason insisted he should be alarmed, but he couldn't really see the point. He'd been drugged far beyond the state where he could do anything beyond lie back and enjoy himself.

By the time he'd managed to reason this out, his legs had been positioned over de Wynter's shoulders. The man looming over him thrust and Steed cried out in pain at the abrupt entry.

To his surprise, de Wynter froze for the few moments it took the drug to relax muscles Steed had automatically tensed. "I'm all right," he whispered, noting the strangeness of reassuring the man taking advantage of him, but found it did not bother him.

Sir August kissed him, all but sucking the breath from Steed's lungs, then he began to fuck in earnest, his body pounding into Steed with bruising force, his position changing until he found Steed's prostate.

Steed cried out, clutching at broad shoulders as sparks burst through his brain.

A satisfied grunt answered his cry and Sir August made a point of striking it again. And again. Pain and pleasure. The man wanted him to feel both. Excellent strategy. He would not soon forget this one.

"Join me." Triumph glittered in Sir August's eyes.

Steed hated to disappoint him, especially when he'd brought Steed to the brink of ecstasy. "Sorry." Truly.

Sir August growled, then managed to thrust even harder.

Steed screamed his release, then blacked out.

*

Emma Peel rescued him mere moments after he'd come back around to find himself dressed and alone in the bedroom. If not for the deep, delicious ache in his backside, he might have thought the whole thing some drug-induced dream. But no, it had happened, his ravaged body left no doubt.

If only his mind were so clear.

*

Two days later Steed pulled his car up in front of Sir August's mansion. His mind was a still a muddle, but now it owed more to shock than drugs.

The butler met him at the door. "He is in the greenhouse, sir," he said, taking Steed's hat, umbrella and suit jacket. "He requests you join him there."

"Ah, I guess I shouldn't keep him waiting then."

"I usually find that a wise idea, sir."

Indeed. 'The weather is no longer in God's hands, but in mine.' A powerful statement, but not nearly as awesome as the power he controlled. Nor as incredible as his demands. Not at all what anyone was expecting.

He followed the butler to the outer room Mrs. Peel had described. Beyond was a greenhouse without peer. And a wet one. Fine time to be deprived of his umbrella. Ah, well, no sense in ruining his shoes. He stripped down to his shirt and trousers, leaving the rest of his wardrobe refinements for the butler's attention.

His own attention turned back to Sir August's demands. A pardon for any and all offenses from all governments and ten million annually from a list of nations that could afford it. His prices were lower to non-existent for others. An incredible price given the losses suffered each year due to weather woes.

To his own country he had two more demands. Alice had discretely delivered them along with the news that Father was the traitor in the Ministry. One, he would continue to live in his ancestral home, unharrassed and untaxed. Two, he wanted John Steed.

Steed hadn't known whether to be terrified or flattered. It seemed he'd made quite an impression on Sir August. Odd. He would have thought after having had Steed once, Sir August would have had no further need of him.

The world and England had agreed to his demands – although England had been thoughtful enough to at least pretend to leave the choice of his fate up to him. Which brought Steed here while several of Sir August's servants swarmed through Steed's flat packing up his belongings for delivery to his new home.

This made no sense whatsoever. He knew Sir August must have had far grander plans, yet it was almost happy endings all around. Steed couldn't quite wrap his mind around the vague suspicion he'd changed the course of history with one word. 'Sorry.'

He moved into the greenhouse and the cool mist enveloped him in a refreshing caress. This was madness. Sheer madness. He was not worthy of obsession or possession. If he'd had any doubts, the incredulous looks he was given over the terms had been proof enough.

A small stream attracted his attention. He stopped on the bank to watch the water flow. Beautiful. Impressive. He was an ill fit. It would not take long for Sir August to see his mistake. Then what would happen? His orders were even along those lines. Try to keep the man appeased and let the Ministry know the moment he failed.

"Lovely," a voice said behind him, then ordered, "No, don't turn around. I want to admire the way your damp trousers cling to your arse a moment longer."

The heat of a bush swept over his face, but he did not move. Appeasement and all that.

After a minute or two he got a second order. "Strip down."

So much for foreplay. He slipped out of his shirt, trousers and pants. Naked, he stood still once again and hoped Sir August remained enchanted with the view. Would be quite the blow to the ego if the man realized what a poor deal he'd made so quickly.

He heard the rustle of footsteps moving across grass, then arms slipped around his waist. They drew him back against a damp, clothed torso and a cock pressing against his much admired arse.

The push of one of the hands urged him down to his hands and knees. Without being prompted, he spread his legs as wide as he could and maintain his balance. Sound of a zipper, then a familiar cock impaled him.

Steed groaned in momentary pain despite the precaution of lubing himself up before he arrived. But it faded quickly beneath Sir August's attentions.

Another thorough taking, another mind-destroying orgasm, although this time, without the drugs mucking things up, he came even harder, yet managed to stay conscious. He did, however, collapse.

So did Sir August. No fast exits this time. From the room or from Steed's body. It didn't surprise him. Whatever that encounter had been about, this one spoke of pure dominance. He'd been claimed, not made love to. A quick separation might weaken the point of the exercise.

Finally, inevitably gravity and male anatomy removed the soft penis from his rectum. Sir August sat up. "We'll talk at dinner."

He knew a dismissal when he heard it.

*

The butler, Phillips by name, showed him to his room. To his surprise, there was nothing that suggested confinement or anything less than luxury. He glanced at the door on the far wall. Somehow he knew it connected this suite with Sir August's. "This is the suite for the countess?"

The butler confirmed his suspicion with a nod. "You must be tired, young sir. If you would like to rest, I will wake you in time to dress for dinner."

"Thank you."

Although it had been days since he'd had a decent rest, he did not expect to sleep, but he decided to give it a go anyway. It surprised him, when what seemed like moments later, Phillips woke him with a gentle shake of his arm.

Mumbling his thanks, Steed stumbled to the bathroom. More opulence surrounded him as he showered.

Phillips had laid out his dinner clothes. No pants, shoes or socks. The trousers were black, the shirt ivory. Both were made of silk. The brush of the fine material against his nipples and cock had him more than a little aroused by the time he sat down at the dinner table.

Sir August joined him after a few minutes, a smug look on his face that said he knew all too well what the garments were doing to Steed.

Steed scowled.

With a laugh, Sir August bent down and kissed him on the cheek, then took his own chair. "Did you sleep well, John?"

It startled him to hear his given name, but he could hardly expect his … owner to observe the formalities. "Yes, most refreshing."

"Good."

Phillips, along with a maid Steed had not yet met, served dinner. They ate mostly in silence, but Sir August seemed content enough. Whatever Steed's meager charms, he'd kept him satisfied for the time being. "May I ask a point of etiquette?"

"You may ask whatever you like."

"What should I call you?" He hoped he wasn't being too forward, but if he was going to have to call the man 'master' or some other such nonsense, he needed to get his head wrapped around the idea before there was trouble.

"August, of course."

Steed blinked. That was close to the last answer he'd expected. "Forgive me, but why 'of course?'"

"It is customary for one to refer to one's husband by his first name, is it not?"

Husband. Certain he must have misheard, he tried to think of another similar sounding word that might fit the context, but came up blank. Was it possible? "You intend to marry me?"

"We will fly to Denmark tomorrow morning."

Denmark. A legal marriage then. Struggling for some frame of reference in all of this, he decided Sir August must be the sort to consider his wife property and it was yet another way to make his claim on Steed. Satisfied he had the answer, he said, "I hear the weather is very nice there this time of year."

Sir August laughed. Steed liked the sound. He couldn't deny he liked it even better, when the man swept the dishes aside and took Steed over the table.

*

Society bride had never been a future Steed had considered in even the most whimsical moment, but he had a good head for protocol and how to organize things, so he managed to assume his new role with an acceptable degree of élan. He also found himself deeply in love with his husband.

He had resisted such an occurrence with all his considerable will. But the megalomaniac he had married, charmed him, seduced him and conquered him utterly. Beyond the occasional nap or two, Steed never slept in his own room. Each night he rested in his husband's arms, in his bed. Few aristocratic wives, even those who weren't forced into their marriages, could claim the same.

It was a rare day indeed when August did not make love to him three or four times, and never did one pass when his husband did not sheath himself within Steed at least once. Then there were the kisses of greeting, the smiles that suggested Steed was always a welcome sight.

August even did his best to keep him entertained. They played chess, fenced, rode and attended the theater. To his dismay, Steed found he was not only in love, but he began to think August might genuinely care for him as well. He told himself he was a fool, yet all the evidence suggested otherwise. But he was never allowed to delude himself for too long.

Once a week he met up with someone from the Ministry. Usually Alice. She had a habit of pointing out things Steed did not want to consider. A man did not change so easily, she'd say. He was up to something and the best way to keep Steed from noticing was to keep him guessing. It made sense. Too much sense.

Especially compared to the other possibility – that anyone could love him. Especially enough to give up ruling the world.

*

Steed was in the midst of planning the next social event of the season when an unexpected visitor arrived. "Lady de Wynter I presume."

He looked up from his notes to see Emma Peel standing in the doorway with an aghast-looking Phillips standing next to her.

"So I've been called," Steed answered, his glance shifting to the butler.

"I'm so sorry, sir, but Sir August told me to never refuse entry or delay one of your Ministry colleagues."

Ah. Wouldn't want to give the impression that something had happened to Steed. "It's all right, Phillips," he assured the elderly man. "Would you be so kind as to inform my husband that we have company?"

"Very good, sir."

Once alone with her, he turned his full attention to the tall redhead. He understood the hostility radiating from her. The last she'd known, he'd been about to kiss her which would have undoubtedly led to something more. Then she'd been arrested and whisked away. By the time of her release, Steed had already been given to August. He had not seen her since that last moment in his former flat and, to spare the government some embarrassment, his situation was not known by many. Obviously, Mother had not seen fit to include her among the few who did know.

Remembering her true title, he asked, "What can I do for you, Dr. Peel?"

"Father sent me."

"Oh?" The title did not change, but a different woman held it these days. Another person who apparently did not know his situation.

"Yes. We're needed."

He'd heard she had replaced him as the Ministry's top agent, but he'd never expected to hear those words again, let alone from her. He could not think of any response beyond silence.

She took it as an agreement to hear her out and launched into a briefing about a bizarre series of crimes similar to a rampage he'd dealt with during his early days with the Ministry. It seemed Father had decided he was the only one who could handle the situation. Dr. Peel did not agree, but had obeyed orders to fetch him.

Steed thought he might have a thing or two to offer, but, "I'll have to discuss the matter with Sir August."

A snort full of disdain answered him. "We haven't time for such nonsense," she snapped. "Are you coming or not?"

He wanted to. He could not deny it, but he could not leave without securing August's permission. It would be an utter violation of the agreement that had brought him here in the first place. "I-"

"Of course he is."

His husband stood in the doorway, a look Steed couldn't read on his face. "August?"

"On your way, John. England needs you and it will spare me the tedium of another one of your parties."

It stung. He'd tried so hard to do what was expected of him. He took a step toward his husband, but the man shook his head. "Go," he snapped, then turned on his heel and left.

Steed did not let himself feel anything. He simply smiled at Dr. Peel and said, "I guess we should be on our way."

*

He did prove vital to the case and even won the right to call her Mrs. Peel again. He'd done his best to explain to her what had happened without compromising security and she seemed to accept the situation. After all, it had been a long time since his perceived slight of her.

Almost a year. No more than a year. He'd spent his first anniversary slogging through some Godforsaken marsh. But it had all paid off. A terrorist ring with a few familiar faces in it had been broken, lives had been saved and he had been shot twice.

The first bit deep into his thigh. He had time to see the blood gushing and wonder how the hell one of their prisoners had gotten a gun. Then the second bullet creased his head and he knew nothing.

*

He woke briefly in a stark hospital room not at all in keeping to his station. Proof enough Sir August had finished with him. He tired to order his thoughts. Tried to figure out how he had failed, but his head hurt too much and he lost consciousness again.

*

"John? Can you hear me?"

Steed did not want to wake up again. It hurt. In more ways than one. But some damned fool kept calling him when he longed for a peaceful oblivion in which he could soothe his broken heart.

"John."

Defeated, he sighed, "What?"

"Open your eyes for me, darling."

Darling? His brain kicked in and he felt the hand holding his. "August?"

Lips pressed against his and the hand squeezed. "Yes, I'm here. Now do as I say and open your eyes."

As always, he obeyed. His husband looked pale and years older. Concern momentarily banished the pain in his head and leg. "What's wrong?"

August stared at him in disbelief. "What's wrong? I almost lost you, you fool."

"Sorry. Out of practice, I guess. I distinctly remember being better at ducking."

"Not a good skill to lose." August tried to smile, but it faltered and tears swam in his eyes. "I thought you were going to die."

"I'm a difficult man to kill. You should know that."

"I wasn't trying. I love you."

"Then why did you send me away?"

"Because I've kept you from your life's work long enough." He shook head. "I always knew the day would come when I'd have to share you again with Queen and country. I am sorry I wasn't more gracious."

His head hurt. Made it difficult to think. But if he understood correctly. … "You're saying I can go back to work?"

August nodded, but his skin looked so gray. It made it quite clear the strain of worrying for Steed would kill him.

"When they need me. Really need me, I will not refuse, but my days as a full-time agent are over." There would be time enough to serve his country when he was alone once again. For now, he had a different duty. "As long as I'm able, I want to be with you."

A determined gleam entered August's eyes and some of his color came back. "Give me the words, John. I've waited for them for far too long."

Steed smiled. "I love you. With all my heart, I love you."

end


End file.
